Wakeful Dreams
by meowcubed3
Summary: Cassandra sees things that she should not, and she can do nothing to stop it. When others learn of her gift, they try to use her. But Cassandra can only be used at one's peril.
1. Chapter 1

_I see everything. I see nothing. The world spins through my head, revealing all to me. All that ever was, could have been, should have been, and will be. Yet I am blind to what is around me. I know only what is in my mind._

* * *

I step softly, so as not to disturb my aunt. She is playing the old battered grand piano that sits in the kitchen. Aunt Melanie always plays before I get back from school, but sometimes I sneak home early to listen. The mournful echoing strains float down the hallway. Everything about Aunt Melanie is rather depressing. She is as thin as reed and even more fragile. My other guardian, Aunt Talia told me that Aunt Melanie was happy once, singing and laughing.

_"She was so beautiful." sighed Aunt Talia. "All curves and movement. Her eyes were so expressive and were like the deepest mountain pools." I scoffed at this, never imagining Aunt Melanie as more than a lonely spinster woman._

_"That doesn't sound like Aunt Melanie"_

_"Ah, but she was not Aunt Melanie then. She was so vibrant and alive. Her skin was unblemished and an olive color. Her hair was dark and flowing and she always had her mouth open in song." Aunt Talia's hands flew about her head._

_"The only thing unfashionable about her were boots. The corunthus. I suppose we should have known then, but she was the happiest of us all at that time." _

_"Who was 'We' and what should you have known? What's a corunthus?" But Aunt Talia had already moved on and ignored my questions._

I stare now at the pale thing that sits at the piano. Her lank hair is pulled up in a severe bun she seems as though a rough wind would shatter her brittle body. Only her eyes hint at her former glory, still deep wells of emotion. Aunt Melanie suddenly pounds on a wrong note and stops when she notices me. Aunt Talia comes bustling through the kitchen, the largest and warmest room in the apartment. She kisses me on the top of my head and drops the groceries on the crooked table.

"How was school today Cassandra?" I smile. Aunt Talia has that effect on people. Her hair is loosely tied up in a braid now, but when she lets it down it reminds me of liquid sunshine. Rosy cheeked and slender, Aunt Talia is a constant whirl of energy.

"Okay. I did get to give my presentation on Hatshepsut though."

"How did it go?"

"Well. Everyone paid attention which was a plus. I was afraid they'd make fun of the fake beard."

"Hatshepsut was the woman who ruled as the pharaoh of Egypt as a man?"

"Yes. But were done with Ancient Egypt and will be starting on Greece." Aunt Talia stiffens and even Aunt Melanie turns around.

"What?" Aunt Talia shifts her weight uncomfortably.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that it's better not to live in the past."

* * *

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Bright green eyes, bordering on blue, take up most of my face. My pale skin, with a splatter of freckles across the nose, makes my black hair seemed dyed. People say I look like a natural red-head, due to my cat eyes and ghostly complexion. I search my image in the mirror for any resemblance to my long dead parents. Perhaps the straight line of my nose belonged to my father, or maybe I share my wavy curls with my mother. I will never know. I own nothing of theirs, no photos, no clothing, and none of my unceasing questions can pry any information out of Aunt Talia.

Sighing, I let down my hair from its accustomed style, one long simple braid. With my hair down I look almost exotic. But, nothing can change my demeanor, so I remain myself, Cassandra Tombulian.

Yawning,I head to my welcoming bed. I shrug on a ratty old T-shirt after tugging off the clothes I had worn during the day and crawl underneath the blankets. Curled up and contented I slowly drift off.

* * *

_I am elsewhere, lost and confused. I look down at my lap, trying to orient myself. But these hands are not my hands. They are knarled and swollen at the joints. Age spots dot the wrinkles that cover the hands. Veins stand out sharply, and the fingers curl, ending in ragged nails. These are the hands of an old, old woman._

_My eyes are weak but I can make out my surroundings. Dark, rough walls that curve over, lit only by the dim light of torches. A man stands in front of me, battered and bloody. Absolute hatred lights his eyes._

_"You told me that if I went to war I would victorious. You lied! My army was slaughtered and my people conquered!" The man opens his mouth to continue, but I speak first._

_"I did not lie." My voice is barely a whisper, rough and broken. "I said that if you went to war a great empire would be destroyed," My voice cracks and I pause to recover. " And one was." At this realization the man beginsto howl in rage._

_My consciousness is ripped away from this scene and I move away, guided by unseen forces. I see soft rolling hills, lush and green, covered in fog. I reach a tranquil lake in the central of a woods. Mists envelope me, and I stand at the side of a sleeping man. He wears polished armor, and the most serene expression I have ever witnessed. Somehow I understand that unlike the other vision, this moment has yet to happen. I peer over the slumbering king' s face, for this is what he must be, for he wears a shining crown. Then something changes. The mists swirl around me and a shiver runs through me. _

_The king opens his eyes._


	2. Chapter 2

I tumble off the bed shaking. It was wrong. The sleeping king isn't supposed to be awake yet. As I lie tangled in my blankets, I realize that I was just dreaming.

"They were just dreams, just dreams." I mutter, as I clutch my head. Suddenly I stand up. Real or not, those dreams meant something. I snatch a piece of paper and a pen of my desk and I scribble as fast as I can.

_If you go to war a great empire will be destroyed_

_The Sleeping King_

Satisfied, I toss the paper and pen back on my desk and sit down on my bed. But my mind can't stop racing. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me that something's wrong. Finally I stand up and head down to the kitchen.

"Aunt Talia? Aunt Melanie?" When they don't respond, I remember that it's Saturday. They are at work right now. Sighing I make myself a bowl of cereal. I pick up the spoon and set it down again. Something is terribly wrong and I'm going to find out what it is.

I creep into Aunt Talia' s room, cringing every time I make a sound. Even though no one else is here, I am afraid of getting caught. After quietly opening the door I make a beeline to the closet. Aunt Talia is a terrible pack rat, so I hope to find something there.

When I open the closet, several boxes fall out. Papers spill everywhere and I start to pick them up. Then I hesitate. Might as well look through them.

Nothing. There is absolutely nothing useful here. Frustrated, I shove the mess back into the closet. For some reason I head to the bathroom. I stand in the middle and almost scream. Instead I slam my fists into the mirror. The mirror shakes violently, but thankfully doesn't break. I stare down at my hands. They are young, unlined and flexible, yet for some reason I still picture them as the hands of the crone I dreamt about being.

"I must be going crazy." I think aloud as I sit on the tiled floor. Then I notice a piece of paper at my feet. It is yellowed and crumpled and looks very old. As I carefully pick it up I figure out that it was hidden behind the mirror. It must have fallen out when I hit the mirror. Gingerly, I hold it up to the light. It is an old black and white photograph. Surprised I look at it closely. There are nine women standing arm in arm together at a seashore. I judge them to be from the 20's due to their bobbed hair and knee length skirts. They even have long strands of beads and the funny little hats. One of the women isn't smiling though. She looks familiar. With a gasp I realize the unhappy woman looks just like Aunt Melanie.

But that is impossible. There is no way Aunt Melanie is that old. I scan the photograph again. Right next to the lady who looks like Aunt Melanie, is one who appears to be Aunt Talia. On closer inspection the women don't just look like my aunts, they are exact duplicates. With trembling fingers I turn the picture over.

_Calliope convinces us to go to the beach, 1926_

I stare at the curving, elegant script on the back. 1926. That was around eighty years ago. This photo should not exist, because it is definitely Aunt Melanie and Aunt Talia in the picture. I must be going crazy, I think again.

"Shoot!" I scramble to my feet. It's 10:03, and I am very, very late.

* * *

I practically sprint into the pottery studio. Mr. Batowski is waiting for me with a scowl. His bushy eyebrows are all bunched together and his nose is scrunched up. I might have laughed if I didn't know how much trouble I was in.

"You are late." He says briefly in a vaguely Eastern European accent. I nod my head in agreement and scamper to the table. Sculpting is the one thing I have any talent at, so Mr. Batowski said I could work at his studio once a week in exchange for me working here after school.

Sliding into my seat, I stare at the lump of clay Mr. Batowski has already set out. Slowly, I pick it up and press my fingers into the moist clay. I'm not really sure what exactly I'm making until a rough shape appears. A branch of some sort a tree, curving gently. I form some delicate leaves to attach to the twigs, but before I do I put it down.

"Mr. Batowski, I have a question." The elderly man looks up from the bowl he is glazing.

"And I have an answer." I consider how to ask him without giving too much away.

"What do you when you what to find out about something?" He sets down the bowl so he can focus on my question.

"When I want to know something, I don't stop looking until I do."

* * *

During dinner both Aunt Talia and Aunt Melanie look uneasy. When I go to clear the table Aunt Talia stands up.

"Why don't you go to bed now, Cassandra? Aunt Melanie and I can handle this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes" she says firmly. I leave the kitchen but stay within hearing distance.

"She's looking for something." I hear Aunt Talia hiss to Aunt Melanie.

"Are you sure?" Aunt Melanie whispers back.

"She ransacked my closet!"

"This is not good. Do you think she knows?"

"If she doesn't it's only a matter of time. I'm worried, Melpomene. I didn't think it would be this soon." Aunt Talia drops her voice so low that I can no longer hear her.

What exactly don't they want me to know? And why did Aunt Talia call Aunt Melanie Melpomene? This is the second time today I've heard a strange name. I slip up to my room mulling over what I just discovered. Calliope, Melpomene, Calliope, Melpomene, I chant over and over in my head until I drift off to sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**If you haven't figured out who Aunt Talia and Aunt Melanie are yet, you need to read some more myths. And if you already know who they are please post your guess in a review. The reason I placed this story in the Greek mythology section, not the mythology section, even though it has non Greek myths in it, is because the mythology section is mainly urban legends and this story doesn't really fit in there. So, until next time.**


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